Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1887-07-27

able easel, which was set up on a level
spot on the grass, with all the COM
posure and aplomb of a young man who
felt himself 10 be in the right place in
creations diagram. She looked at him
with solemn, sleep-shadowed eyes; he
looked back at her exactly as If she was
a part Of the landscape, and worked
steadily on in silence.
care you an artistP" said she. "Are
you painting the old chestnut-treeP
Oh, you must be the gentlemen that
Docia Honeywell told me about" And
then she suddenly remembered the
tangled fringe of curls, the round, UNI
covered arms, and jumped up in a
panic of very becoming confusion.
II am Mark Jeffery," said the artist,
composedly. Eyes, am boarding at
Squire Honeywell's house. And yonP"
II am Roxy Stephens" said the girl.
hurridly pulling down her calico
sleeves. IF you will just step up to
the house will give a jar of wild plums
that l promised to Docia; that's with
an abrupt consciousness of her temer-
ity,) "if you don't mind carrying it.
And this was the manner of their
first acquaintance.
Roxy was very sorry when Mr.. Jefferys
returned to the city. 1t seemed sif his
absence left yawning hiatus in her
life, which had not previously been
eventful or rich in incident. But she
did not know how more than sorry
Mark Jefferys was to part Aom her.
"'Full many flower is born to blush
unseen" he quoted to himself, after
the hackneyed style of the young man
in general when the little winged god
has him at disadvantage. "But shc
shall not blush unseen if my pictures
in this years exhibition bring their
price. She shall be my wife-always
supposing that she considers me worthy
of the treasurc-trove of her love.
will wear her like flower on my heart.
think-yes, i think she likes me lit
tie now. am quite sure that If I had
the chance I could make her like me
little more"
And so now and then he ventured to
write to her, lest by any chance she
might forget that such q person ex-
listed.
Now in real life things will some
times happen as strangely as they do
in novels. Every one knows this. And
it came to pass that in the mid-April
time, when skies above and violets be-
low are blue with blueness that no
description can equal, Docia Honey
well came up to New York to buy her.
self silk dress, and asked Roxanna
Stephens to accompany her.
~ never like to trust entirely to my
own taste, said Docia; "and you have
such excellent ideas of color, Roxy"
When the dress was duly settled
upon-one of those delicious olives
which, like the hair of the poets hero
inc, was
Brown in the shadow, and gold In the sum
there was yet a good hour and half
to spare before the train went.
ooh, do let us go to the Academy of
Design! said Roxy; lit can't be far.
And think it would rest my eyes to
look at some pictures"
1t was fine, sunshiny, breezy after
noon, and all the world was out. Roxy
came slowly up the broad marble steps,
looking around at the giant palms, and
the caoutchouc leaves, and the monster
camelia-trees, whose dark green foliage
shore as If it had been vanished. Be-
You'd glowed the pictures, outlined in
gold, full of vivid lights and deep,
mysterious shadows. A little crowd
had collected before one particular cam
vas, and following the usual impulse of
human nature, Docia and Roxy left the
other pictures-possibly possessed OF
equal merit--unsurveyed, and joined
the fluttering, perfumed knot of gaz-
ers.
"The picture of the season." she
heard some one saying in the soft, dis
tinct tones that denote your society
oracle; "'La Jolie Blanchisseuse.'
Would you believe that that little
thousand dollarsp It's charmingly
painted thing-oh, of course-but, after
all, what is there to ftP"
ut is tho sentiment, the tonem an
swered a wise critic who was penciling
down notes for an art paragraph in the
next days Sphinn. lin this age of the
world nobody can tell what's going to
succeed and what isn't. The public
pulse don't bear feeling as it used"
Little Roxy, in her plain brown gown
and the poke hat of rough-and-ready
straw, with the loops of cherry ribbon
which she herself had sewn on, stood
on tip-toe to peep over the shoulder of
the tall lady in front of her at the
picture.
"Ah, DociaL' she cried, starting
back, as she caught glimpse of it,
with the strange sensation of one who
looks into mirror, "I-I have seen
that before"
In the foreground crystal-clear
brook gurgled away under fringe of
luxuriant crosses; in the middle dis
lance there was the green mystery Of
chestnut shadows on the grass, and
a young girl asleep, with bare white
arms, and sun-bonnet fallen down her
neck, while an open book lay on the
ground. A rci-winged blackbird
balanced itself OH bush at her right,
and in the background line full of
fluttering clothes seemed to come and
go at the signal of the wind. One
could almost hear the murmur of the
brook, almost see the stir of the tall
grasses in the yellow mist of the noon
tide heats. 1t was very simple picture,
to be sure, but it is the simple pictures
that speak to peoples hearts now
adays.
Docia stared intently. ut looks like
you, Roxy" she said, "and that is the
very chestnut-tree with the hollow
heart that blew down i'm the equinoc-
tial gale last March. Have you found
the number in the catalogueP Who
painted il. All, l thought so-Mark